すごい異世界の世界

  Dry and pleasant, the cedars' smell of pencil shavings filled the air. Blended with the sweeping aroma of French vanilla, it granted the woods a queer air of the preternatural. But Japanese cedar trees weren't the only ones populating the dense forest; indeed, skeletal maples swayed hauntingly among the dark green islands, adrift in a matte sea of milk, and hardy red pines also stood tall, looming haphazardly over the sinuous dirt hallways. The sylvan shadows scrolled on the duo in a checkerboard motif as they coursed through them. While the barefoot boy moved briskly through the forestland, Inês did her best to keep up with him. His pace was such that he did not leave any footprints in his wake. The young girl was not so agile: her feet got caught on more than one root along the way, leaving her with scraped knees and aching shins. She didn't have time to dwell on it, though; her guide was unrelenting in his furtherance.

  In the fullness of time, the boy stopped and looked back, a smile on his face.

  “We're almost there,” he said, a fair distance away.

  Once she caught up to him, Inês realized he was waiting at the foot of a formidable flight of stairs, right at the top of which stood a majestic torii gate. Her breath escaped her. Despite the many questions swirling around in her head, she couldn't help but let herself be taken by the arresting beauty of the sight.

  The boy looked at the gate, then back at her. His expression was gently inquisitive.

  “You really love Japan, don't you?” he asked.

  Inês pondered the question. She had always wanted to see Japan, but this was her first time actually being there—if this wasn't all a dream, that was! As such, she didn't know if she could truly say she loved it. However, as she stood in front of the hundreds of steps piling on before her, crowned with the traditional red construction that she had imagined herself visiting so many times, she couldn't help but answer: “Yes, I love it very much!”

  The boy grinned from ear to ear; an expression that didn't quite reach his eyes. A cold zephyr moved through the trees and passed over the two of them. Inês shivered as the boy's attire echoed like the pages of an old book turning.

  “He made the right choice,” he simply said.

  Before she could interject, he started going up. Resigned, she followed suit. The climb wasn't a walk in the park, but it wasn't a walk in the woods either; all in all, she rather preferred it to a trek through the forest. The tall steps, carved in stone, had a regularity to them that was easier to grasp. The weather got more frigid as they went up, but the exercise kept her warm. Before too long, the pair arrived at the top.

  “Your friends are already here,” the boy stated.

  And without another word, he took a bow, leaving the same way they had just arrived. She wanted to ask what friends he was referring to, or if he didn't have business of his own at the shrine after all, but Inês felt like any question would be met with silence, so, with all the forbearance she could muster, she proceeded prudently toward the shrine, a tall building wrapped in snow. Through the glistening white patches, she could catch bright red accents here and there, and the roof had switched its traditional dark hue for a thick white cover.

  Once she got to the stairs, a handful of wooden steps, Inês took a beat; she couldn't hear anything inside. She went up calmly, wondering what she would find behind the rice paper door. When she got to it, she stopped herself; hesitant. She took a deep breath.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “Excuse you indeed. We've been waiting on you for ever.”

  She turned around in a gust of wind. At the bottom of the small stairway, leaning against a stone lantern, there stood a boy. He was taller than her and had short, jet black hair. His eyes were brown and almond-shaped, with a blear spark. His skin had a faint, golden tint, and he was dressed in oversize clothes.

  “Let's hope you're worth it,” he added as he listlessly made his way to the deck.

  His expression was unreadable, but he took his hand out of his pocket and extended it for Inês to shake. He was wearing gleaming, dark nail polish.

  “The name's Jin," he said.

  “Inês," she replied as she shook his hand.

  As Jin went to open the door, an uproar came suddenly crashing from around the back, to the right of them. A small, tan girl, wearing a flowery orange dress was charging precisely at the duo.

  “Look at these!” she screamed, her tiny face squinched into a cartoonish expression.

  She was holding a plate of rice cakes. The kagami mochi, white and two-tiered, trembled precariously as she ran with them in hand.

  “They were getting soggy out in the snow,” she lamented with a childish pout.

  She halted when she noticed Inês; her bright green eyes scanning the new arrival in short order. Inês could sense a million thoughts bumping around in the pertly girl's mind. Whichever one she landed on must have been a good one, though, because she soon smiled. This smile had nothing in common with the little boy's rictus from earlier: it was like a small, beaming sun; bright and warm. When she saw it, Inês felt instantly at ease.

  “Oh, it's you. They said you'd get here soon. Do you want one?” she asked, holding out the plate.

  But before Inês could give it a thought, a third voice came from inside the shrine.

  “Don't eat that,” said the voice sternly. “Those are offerings; they're not for us.”

  Jin made the rice paper door hum softly as he slid it open. The shrine was vast and mostly empty. Everything, from the walls to the floor was made of wood, giving the room an orderly, almost austere atmosphere. There was no light but what little came naturally from outside, making it hard to tell dog from wolf. At the center of the room, on a small pedestal, rested a mirror, polished to a glow. This was nothing like any church Inês had ever set foot in. In fact, she didn't want to enter; it felt like she shouldn't. But, already inside, kneeling in front of the dais at a low table, there was a second boy. This one was taller than Jin and willowy in build. He was dressed in what seemed like a school uniform and had pale skin, and meticulously combed brown hair. When he turned around, Inês saw his nebulous grey eyes.

  “You made it,” he said simply. “That's good.”

  He got up and walked toward the door, taking the plate of rice cakes from the girl, who looked miffed at his audacity, and went to place it on the table he had just been kneeling at a moment ago. Then, without a word, he doubled back, put his shoes on, and closed the door behind him.

  “My name's Marcel," he said. "And you've already met Jin and Lucía.”

  Inês shook his hand, and Lucía kissed her on the cheek. There was an uncomfortable lull as everyone sized each other up. A periodic gale blew an ill-boding whistle as the powdery snow laced the earth.

  “So... am I the only one who got hit by a truck, or…?” asked Inês after a minute or so of silence.

  The three others shared a knowing look. Lucía stretched her back and sighed gravely.

  “Nope!” she answered. “I was out and about, going to a dance rehearsal and wham, bam, thank you ma'am! I never saw it coming.”

  “Same thing here,” said Jin. “I was meeting up with some friends when I got hit out of nowhere. I had just checked the road, too.”

  “Me four,” added Marcel. “I was coming home from school and got ran over. I was on the ground for what felt like an instant, then I heard a distorted song. A song I know, but…”

  “Don't remember?” asked Inês.

  Marcel looked at her, a very serious look in his eye.

  “How'd you know?” he asked.

  “The same thing happened to me,” she answered. She turned to Jin and Lucía. “And you?”

  They exchanged a glance and looked back at Inês, nodding in approval.

  “That's weird,” she muttered, her stomach twisting in knots as she fidgeted with her locket.

  “It's not the only thing that's weird,” said Jin. “Do you speak Korean?”

  “Korean? No, why?”

  “I'm speaking Korean right now,” he said. “And I hear all of you speaking Korean, too.”

  Everyone stood muted.

  “You're all speaking French to me,” answered Marcel when Inês looked at him questioning.

  “And Spanish, to me,” said Lucía. “What about you?”

  “I've been speaking Portuguese this all time. Like all of you… I mean, I thought.”

  She needed to sit. She stepped down and sat on the deck. It was soaked and cold. The snow was still falling, slow and mechanical. What kind of world was this? Inês was about to ask the question out loud when a bright blue light, like an orb of sapphire concentrate, appeared between the two stone lanterns. The four teenagers fixed their gazes on it, wondering what else this place could muster up that would shatter their understanding of nature.